


wonder if he sees me

by regrettably



Category: Breakers (Korea TV), Khiphop
Genre: M/M, writing is hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 03:24:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16189055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regrettably/pseuds/regrettably
Summary: Jooyoung and Seo Samuel share a drink together after the finale of Breakers.





	wonder if he sees me

**Author's Note:**

> I can't explain myself anymore

 

 

“...look, I’m not trying to like, shit on your work or anything, I seriously really enjoyed it!  Like the video, the props, the emotions behind the song and all… I get it. I do. I’m just saying that maybe, _maybe_ , you didn’t really read the audience, y’know?”

 

“Yeah?”  Jooyoung laughs, sort of, glances up at the dangling earrings and row of straight teeth on the other side of the table.  “And since when do you care what an audience thinks about you?”

 

“I don’t have to.”  The near-perfect teeth smile back at him.  “I’m Seo Samuel.”

 

Jooyoung laughs for real this time.  

 

Isn’t he just.

 

Sitting there, sprawled out and all on-brand with his paint-splattered jeans and the ink that spirals from his arms up to his neck and the sliver of metal in his lip that catches the low cafe lights and flashes little bursts of white in Jooyoung’s direction when he quirks his mouth into those knowing grins.

 

“Hmm.”  Jooyoung looks at the table.  His fingertips trace abstract shapes in the wet ring that’s sweated off his drink.  “And what’s it like, being the great Seo Samuel?”

 

Sure, at first Samuel maybe had some sort of mild personal vendetta against him.  They may have known _of_ each other, but they didn’t know each other.  They’d never even met before, but he came after Jooyoung from the very beginning.  Tested him again and again, saw no competition beyond Jooyoung himself, ultimately showed everyone that he was in fact better than Starship’s famous producer.

 

But Jooyoung just couldn’t say no when he suggested they grab a drink after the last episode of Breakers aired.

 

Samuel draws people in.  He talks -- about music in specifics and in general, about recording practices, albums he’s picked up recently, designers he likes, places he’s had good salads at, the stupid show, random shit -- and they’re in a coffee shop, the fancy kind with marble countertops and expensive specialty roasts and the hiss of espresso machines and churning of foamed milk and undercurrent of couples chatting over evening iced americanos, but it’s hard to hear anything else.  He smiles and Jooyoung wants to smile too. He stares and it’s hard to look away.

 

And Jooyoung even kind of likes Samuel.

 

He likes that Samuel says what he feels.  He likes that he makes the music he wants.  He likes that he presents himself as who he wants to be.

 

He likes that Samuel’s hair is black now, so when they sit across from each other it’s not like Jooyoung is gazing into some sort of warped mirror that shows who he could have been as much anymore.  

 

“Not that great.” Samuel grins again, relaxed while self-depreciating.  “I mean, I didn’t win.”

 

“Do you think you should have?”

 

“Nah.” Samuel shakes his head, his earrings jingle.  “That kid totally deserved it.”

 

Jooyoung nearly scoffs.  “That kid? Penomeco’s like, a year younger than us?  Does that make him a kid to you?”

 

Samuel nods.  “Yup. He still has a lot of… hope, y’know?”

 

“And you don’t?”

 

Samuel looks him dead in the eyes, his lips pressed into a thin smile.  “Do you?”

 

Samuel’s right.  Jooyoung doesn’t need to tell him that, they both know it’s true.  No reason to feed that ego any more. Jooyoung stares at his damp drawings instead.  The corners of his mouth twitch while he sketches a watery cloud and sloppy raindrops.  He likes that Samuel would say something like that to someone closer to a stranger than a friend.

 

The silence stretches, mostly coffee-scented comfort with an undertone of surreal in the subdued lighting.

 

Samuel clinks melting ice cubes from his cafe latte together with a straw.  “Actually… I kinda invited you here because I wanted to ask you something.”

 

Jooyoung outlines a wonky cat in the puddle under his fingers.  “Sure.”

 

Samuel leans forwards, elbows on his knees.  He’s near, eyes level with Jooyoung’s. There’s a second of dead air.

 

“How come we haven’t fucked yet?”

 

It’s like someone’s pulled the needle off an album.  A quick scratch of metal against plastic and the all-encompassing soundscape Seo Samuel’s been spinning is brought to an abrupt end.  Jooyoung’s hand jumps and his cat morphs into a blob.

 

He closes his eyes.  

 

He tunes in to the white noise around them.  They might have just been on TV, but they’re not really famous in a way that most people recognize.  No one was watching them. And Samuel spoke soft and deep. Nobody heard anything. They’re on their own.  

 

He opens them again.

 

“Is that… something you’re interested in?”

 

“Yeah man.  I think it’d be fun.”

 

“Fun.” Jooyoung repeats.  Samuel said the same thing about battling him. That it would be _fun_.

 

Samuel nods.  “Fun. Sort of seems like you don’t have fun often.”

 

Jooyoung draws a sad face on the table.

 

He’s right.  He doesn’t have fun often.  

 

Samuel tilts closer, dips a fingertip into the water.  Their hands brush. Samuel’s fingers are warm. He changes the frown into a smile with the side of his nail.  

 

Jooyoung’s lips tug upwards too.  “...sure.”

 

“Sure?”

 

“Mmhmm.  Sure.”

 

“Alright.”  Samuel motions at the door.  “Wanna go?”

 

Jooyoung nods back and the smiley face grins up at the ceiling as they leave.

 

Outside is hot, too hot, late evening air heavy with the start of summer swelter.  Samuel lives close, near the gingko-lined streets of Garosugil. Jooyoung goes with him along dark sidewalks where the buildings and the trees and the Seoul lights all melt together to a glass and stone apartment block.  They go up a mirrored elevator and walk down a hallway lined with thick metal doors until they come to one, just like all the others, and Samuel keys in some numbers.

 

They’re in, leaving the suffocating heat behind for the cool air of Samuel’s home.  Jooyoung toes off his shoes in the doorway, his converse surrounded by pairs of sneakers that are all the same size.

 

“Well, this is it.”  Samuel gestures, shrugs.

 

Jooyoung looks around.  It’s like his own place, in a way.  Open, sort of empty. Minimal furniture, white walls.  He guesses Samuel’s just a bit more sentimental though.  Where Jooyoung has vacant spaces, he’s got shelves of books and records, CDs, cassettes.  Big canvases streaked with colours. Some neglected houseplants. An expensive keyboard next to an old upright piano, both covered with scribblings.  A desktop setup with a Diablo case on the unit.

 

“It’s nice.”  There’s a corner with frames and little figures.  Jooyoung stares. Beyond one picture with who he assumes is his parents, the photos are all of Samuel by himself.

 

Samuel cracks a half-smile.  “Thanks. Come on?”

 

The bedroom is a loft above the rest of the living space.  Jooyoung follows Samuel up some stairs, watches how his oversized shirt hangs loose on his shoulder blades.

 

The bed is wide and low to the ground.  The sheets are grey. Samuel sits on the edge, pats the bedding beside him.

 

Jooyoung lingers on the top step.  “Can I ask something?”

 

Samuel’s smile slips a little.  “Yeah. Shoot.”

 

“Why me?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Why’d you pick me?” Jooyoung blinks big sunken eyes.  Samuel scrunches his eyebrows together. “You picked me at the start.  Right away. Why me then? Why me now?”

 

Samuel folds his hands together in his lap.  “Do you want the right answer, or the real answer?”

 

Jooyoung takes a step forward.

 

“Both, I guess.”

 

“Okay.”  Samuel looks at Jooyoung, chews on his lip.  “The right answer is that you were, like, the obvious choice.  The only real competition for me. Like, when I think of style and experience and just… everything.  It had to be you.”

 

“...and the real answer?”

 

“This is gonna sound a little weird, but…” Samuel’s eyes drift to the floor.  “When I first saw you, you reminded me of… me?”

 

Jooyoung steps closer.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Like, I saw you, and it was like looking at who I could’ve been?  If I’d done things differently?” Samuel pauses, licks his lips. “You’re like... all the good parts of me.  And at first, I think I just wanted to beat all those good parts, prove to myself that I’m not as bad as I think.”

 

Jooyoung steps so he’s standing right in front of Samuel.

 

“And then?”

 

“And then when I first saw you in front of a crowd, when I heard you sing, I realized that… I think you feel that way too.”  Samuel picks at a red splotch of paint on his knee. “And then I just wanted to be around someone who felt like I do.”

 

There are a million things he could say.  That Samuel is totally right, again. That he’s all the things that are good about Jooyoung, that when they met he couldn’t look at him because he felt like he was just staring at what might have been.

 

Jooyoung doesn’t know whether to laugh or to cry.

 

“So… you’re saying you looked at me and saw you?”  He decides to go with laugh. “Are you telling me you want to fuck yourself?”

 

Samuel’s head jolts up, eyes wide.  

 

Jooyoung grins.  Samuel’s lips curl into a slow smile.

 

“I mean… I think I’m kind of hot.”

 

Jooyoung snorts.  Samuel extends a hand, Jooyoung hesitates for one lonely second before he twines their fingers together.

 

“Can we kiss?”

 

“Yeah.” Samuel answers. “‘Course.”

 

Jooyoung climbs onto Seo Samuel’s lap and kisses him.

 

Samuel kisses just the way he is.  Like in this moment he’s the only other person who exists in the whole world.  His mouth is old coffee bitter and near-scalding hot. He’s gentle. Jooyoung cradles his face and brings him closer.  Samuel tangles his flowered hands into Jooyoung’s bleached hair. They both laugh when Samuel’s lip ring gets in the way.

 

“You’re good at this too, huh?”  Jooyoung swipes his thumb over Samuel’s slick bottom lip.  “There anything you’re not good at?”

 

Samuel’s ears are pink and his voice comes out rough.  “You’re not going to find out by just asking.”

 

Jooyoung gives Samuel a tiny shove and Samuel falls back into the sheets.  Jooyoung falls with him.

 

The bed smells only like Samuel.  

 

Jooyoung reaches for the hem of Samuel’s shirt.

 

They peel off layers of sweat-sticky clothing until they’re skin on skin, ink on ink, bone on bone.  Samuel is thin, lean muscle covered in swirls of dark patterns and words and blossoms. Jooyoung is thinner, a skeleton decorated with figures and characters and shapes.

 

Samuel maps all of those lines with calloused fingertips.  Jooyoung buries his face in the flowers on Samuel’s neck.

 

They rock together like the waves on Samuel’s arms: push and pull, ebb and flow.  Samuel _is_ good; good with his hands, with his mouth.  He looks good with his fingers wrapped around Jooyoung’s tiny waist and he looks good between Jooyoung’s legs.  He smiles when Jooyoung sucks on the hollows above his collarbones and grins into Jooyoung’s mouth when Jooyoung rakes his nails down his back.

 

He looks best when Jooyoung laces their hands together and pushes his wrists into the mattress.   They laugh and sway and soften into distorted reflections that fuck on crumpled grey sheets.

 

“You’re so… so _good_.”  Samuel gasps, his lips skim the shell of Jooyoung’s left ear.

 

A bead of sweat runs from Jooyoung’s hairline, drips down his temple.  His voice drips too. “So are you.”

 

Samuel cums with clenched teeth and a groan that Jooyoung feels rattle about in his ribcage.  Jooyoung cums with his forehead pressed to Samuel’s.

 

Late night sets in, air-con whir and shaky breaths.

 

“Should I stay?”  Jooyoung whispers.  The darkness creeps soft around him.

 

“Yeah.”  Samuel mumbles against a pillow.  Seoul’s lights filter hazy through the windows.  They make Samuel’s cheekbones shine in the spreading gloom.  “I’ll make you pancakes in the morning.”

 

“ _You’ll_ make me _pancakes_?”

 

“Yep.  If you stay.”

 

Samuel tugs the grey sheets up, drapes an arm across Jooyoung’s stomach.

 

Jooyoung doesn’t know when the last time he spent a night like this was.  He presses a palm to Samuel’s chest, feels his heart beat steady under his flesh.  

 

Samuel weaves their legs together.   His shins are hairy.

 

Jooyoung likes that.  

 

“Then I’ll stay.”  Outside it starts to rain.

 

The morning is grey.  It takes Jooyoung a good minute to figure out why he wakes up warm and cocooned in grey sheets in a grey-tinged room instead of with a stiff neck and slumped over the desk in the white walls of his home recording studio.

 

The other half of the mattress is empty, but there’s baggy clothing laid out at the foot of the bed and quiet scratchy piano jazz coming from downstairs.  It smells like melted butter and the aftermath of a summer rain shower and Samuel.

 

Jooyoung dresses in Samuel’s clothes and pads down the stairs to the sound of black keys on worn vinyl.

 

“I like the music.” Jooyoung says, voice just woken raspy as he reaches the bottom step.

 

“Thanks.”  Samuel grins over his shoulder from the cooktop.  He’s wearing some huge white shirt that’s barely buttoned up and floaty pants.  His eyes are swollen and his hair is artfully sleep-tousled. White powder coats his forearms.  “Do you think honey can expire?”

 

Jooyoung comes closer, licks his thumb, rubs at Samuel’s face.

 

“You had flour on your cheek.”  He explains, scratches at the morning stubble on his chin.  “And no idea.”

 

Samuel drums his fingers on the countertop in time with a riff from the record player.  “I’m sure it’s fine then.”

 

They drink black coffee and eat pancakes with probably okay honey and sliced apple at a table that Samuel gives a hasty wipe to remove a notable layer of dust.  

 

The coffee tastes artisanal and the pancakes are very good.  Good enough that Jooyoung eats four. Samuel’s good at cooking too.

 

Jooyoung bumps his mug with his elbow.  Some coffee dribbles over the edge and forms a wet circle on Samuel’s table.

 

Samuel watches Jooyoung while he pushes a leftover wedge of apple around his plate with a fork.

 

Jooyoung draws stars in the spilt coffee.  His mouth feels sticky with honey and starch and the obvious question.  

 

“So…” He starts, trailing off.

 

Samuel finishes it for him.  “...what now, right?”

 

“Yeah, that.”  He’s right one more time.  Of course. “That’s what we should talk about, isn’t it?”

 

“Probably.”  Samuel warms his hands on his coffee.  “Well, the way things are now, I think we’ve got two options?  Like, one, when you leave... this is done. And that’s cool! That’s totally cool, if that’s what you want.  I had fun, I really did! But if we stop things here… it’s good. No hard feelings. None.”

 

Jooyoung looks up from his roast-stained fingers, right into Samuel’s eyes.  “...or?”

 

“...or… or, y’know… we could do this again sometime?  Like I said, if we don’t it’s cool, but I think that could be… kind of cool too.”

 

Samuel is leaning back in his chair, legs stretched out long underneath him.  He’s smiling, casual and calm, but his knuckles are white around his mug.

 

Jooyoung closes his eyes.

 

He listens to Samuel’s soft breathing and his piano jazz.  He tastes the coffee and honey that lingers on his tongue. He smells old books and grey sheets.

 

He thinks of his own house with its white walls and white furniture and empty bed.

 

He opens them again.

 

“Do you like cats?”

 

“Yeah, for sure.”  Samuel says. “I like cats.”

 

“Would you like to meet my cat?”

 

Samuel’s smile changes.  It looks nice. “That’d be cool.”

 

“Cool.”  Jooyoung echoes.  He smiles too. It’s nice.

 

Outside, thin rays of sunlight break through the morning cloud.

 

Inside, Samuel reaches across the table and paints a wobbly sun in the middle of Jooyoung’s coffee stars.  Jooyoung draws a little heart next to the sun.

  
  
  


END


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